Beata Beatrix
by hikachu
Summary: He makes her want things for herself: she's starting to fall in love. And, inevitably, he is, too.


**note** All italicized lines, except one (III), are quotes from: Homer's _Odyssey_ as translated by I. Pindemonte (0), Dante's _Inferno_ (I, II) and _Vita Nova_ (IV, V, VI).

* * *

**0. **_E se tu preghi i / compagni e gli ordini di scioglierti, essi / allora ti leghino ancora di più con / le corde._

She had prayed that the submarine would just sink, languidly go down and disappear from the surface world like a sleepy mermaid; and she had been aware that it was unfair of her, so unjust towards her companions, who had been so kind to her. She had been aware that it was too sinful a wish for God to grant it. But even so, she had felt so lost when they had reached the island; so empty, as if only the unquestionable reality of having escaped death could finally tear down her selfish hopes.

She was alive, and she could no longer hide from this truth and the fact that changing it wouldn't be as easy as slapping her hands together and asking someone else.

**I.**_ Amor, ch'a nullo amato amar perdona_

If she had been home and her parents had been alive, with her, something like this would have never been possible.

It is not a reason to feel any less sad though, because she will never be able to see mamma and papà again—not until the day she reaches the place where they are now.

Just a few days ago, she'd been sitting on this very cliff, wondering if perhaps, the sea would embrace her the same way it had generously welcomed her father, wrapped in a white sheet and a tricolored flag (he wouldn't even be allowed to rest next to his wife back in their homeland she realized, biting her lip).

"Bice?"

"Ah—Ah, sorry. I got distracted," and she finds that she can make herself smile. It is, after all, pretty easy when she's around Kinzo.

"It's alright," and he smiles too. It's warm and a bit awkward and childlike.

They talk for hours every day, as if it's natural, as if it's been like this between them since the very day they were born. They open their hearts to each other without truly doing so: the sincerity, almost naïve, and the thoughts they'd never tell anyone are hidden in the corner of their eyes when they smile or recall something, in the way the soft flesh of their lips twists and whitens when they bit them thoughtfully, worriedly.

If her companions – her new family – weren't so busy trying to come up with a way to ensure their safety on this island forgotten by god and the rest of the world, this would have never been possible. Beatrice would never be allowed to spend so much time alone with a man.

Of course they do worry, and unless Yamamoto calls for Kinzo first, it's always one of the Italians that puts an end to their conversations, making sure to – sometimes gently, sometimes exasperatedly – scold her once they reach the others and, for the moment, he can stop worrying about a rear attack from the Japanese.

But the atmosphere is too heavy with mistrust and uncertainty, and this leads to paranoia and a selfish sort of blindness, the thought-almost-duty of defending her virtue slipping from their minds a bit too often, a bit too easily. Perhaps foolishly, Beatrice is thankful for this.

It's not that he makes her forget, or that his words can dull her pain, but when she talks to Kinzo she can almost believe that there's something more, something else—that a future exists, even for her, who has nothing left.

He makes her want things for herself: she's starting to fall in love.

And, inevitably, he is, too.

**II. **_Galeotto fu 'l libro e chi lo scrisse: / quel giorno più non vi leggemmo avante_

They've led lives that are similar but not too much.

They were both born bearing the mark of important surnames—so important that many, too many, around them can remember those syllables better than their features. Rich enough to live sheltered in a cage so golden and serene that boredom and emptiness are almost a given in that kind of existence.

But, Kinzo learns, while he was taken over by the nothingness and made into a puppet, Bice was loved and thanks to this she could grow into the strong young woman sitting next to him on the grass: so pretty and shining that you could think her a beautiful trick of the light, she's so much stronger than him.

They discuss books: novels, plays and essays, and if one of the two confesses to never having read the work the other mentions, the latter promises: then I'll have to lend it to you, as though as they're sure they'll leave Rokkenjima one day; as though as they're sure that when this happens they won't have to say goodbye.

Every time he nods at the mention of a certain Italian author or his works, Beatrice's eyes widen as if to ask: so you know this too?, and her face lights up with curiosity and an inexplicable form of gratefulness for having found in this man yet another fragment of the serene, if a bit boring, afternoons spent with a novel or doing homework back home. Then she stops talking and listens carefully to his opinion, and his thoughts sometimes meet and almost coincide with hers; sometimes they take an entirely different path, reminding her that they weren't born and raised in the same country even more than his almond-shaped eyes do.

Perhaps this is even more evident to Kinzo, who still marvels at her appearance and the way her inflection changes so much and so rapidly as she speaks, like a river, overflowing and fresh; the way her hands move, without ever stopping, when she describes something or simply expresses an opinion, as if the gestures were words themselves, essential to conveying what she wants him to know, to see. In her own way, she is composed: it's her determination that almost makes her look dignified, even when she's just offering a friendly smile.

While polite, Beatrice's manners aren't formal, at least not when she's with him, and only now he realizes how easily she allowed him to call her not only by her first name, but Bice, like a friend would. The thought warms his heart and would make him blush if he wasn't already so used to it.

She's way more spontaneous and less reserved than Kinzo, or his compatriots, would normally expect from a woman, and while they'd label it as being rude (that's how those foreigners, those westerners are, after all), it only makes him want to know more of her: he's always been fascinated by those far-off countries and their people, perhaps because he needed the illusion of a place where happiness – whether he could reach it or not – actually existed; and he welcomes her bright presence as the only real thing in a bleak world.

Kinzo savors how their voices stumble in different manners over foreign words: first it's English, because even that they pronounce in different ways; then it's Japanese, Italian, as they teach each other random words and short phrases. Her natural vivacity turns into gracelessness as she jumps from a word to another too quickly: her n and wa and shi are too harsh, some of the vowels a bit too strong; and in the meanwhile, his tongue trips over sounds that don't even exist in his native language, and his voice hesitates in the nonexistent space between consonants that are supposed to be bound together—similarly to when he's speaking English.

Today, Bice asks him something so trivial that it startles him a bit.

"Kinzo," she calls his name although there's no need to (it's just the two of them and the sea), but doesn't even turn around to look at him in the eye. "The people here greet each other with a bow, don't they?"

"… Oh," it hits him that Bice knows practically nothing about Japan and its customs besides what she's seen here on Rokkenjima, which isn't much considering that the Italians prefer to spend as little time as possible with their _allies_. "Yeah, we do."

She nods.

He hums and wonders why the conversation feels so awkward all of sudden. It's unusual for them.

"What about your country? Don't you shake each other's hands?"

"Ah—yes." Kinzo's eyes narrow: Beatrice still isn't looking at him. "But that's mostly for when you're being introduced to someone for the first time." There's a long pause. "Your friends—you greet them like this," and she finally turns around; gets closer to him, even.

Kinzo's too stunned to do or say anything when she grabs his hand and their palms touch, adhering to each other entirely, firmly, intimately, and then she kisses both of his cheeks.

He can't even reply to her when she stands up abruptly and says: "I'll see you tomorrow!".

**III. **_intermezzo_

The boat sways gently and she's suffering: even breathing is a struggle.

However, as he looks at her smile, he knows that it's sincere, that if she's grasping his hand tightly it's because she wants to be with him always, rather than out of pain.

He too feels oddly at peace and forgets his own wounds as he kisses her knuckles and whispers, returning her smile: "Soon you'll be alright," _everything_ will be alright, he means, and in a way it already is, and he calls her, my golden witch.

**IV. **_Donne ch'avete intelletto d'amore..._

A good Italian woman needs to know very little besides how to cook and make her house a welcoming nest for her family; she isn't expected to do anything but act like an obedient wife and a caring but firm mother: children are Italy's future, and so they must be healthy and they must be taught that God and their country are the most important things.

A respectable young lady from a respectable family, however, is expected to know at least Latin and French. If she's really rich, or if her parents want her to marry a politician, she'll learn another language and how to play the piano; maybe even Greek. If she eventually forgets those things, it's alright: what matters is that she studied them at one point, and the knowledge she gained, faded or not, will be like an extra row of pearls wrapped around her slender neck; it will make her more precious, it will increase her chances to find an excellent husband.

Bice had been one of the few lucky girls to attend the liceo classico: her parents could afford it, and they allowed her to read all she wanted as long as it wasn't anything inappropriate for a young woman and her curiosity didn't get in the way of other, most important activities, like learning how to cook, sew and decorate the house, but truth to be told, Beatrice – and she was a bit ashamed to admit it – wasn't that skilled when it came to those things, but nobody was faster or more elegant than her when they had Physical Education at school, and she had even been rewarded with a medal once; and she had taken all the extra subjects and could play the piano fairly well and speak English fluently—something that wasn't common at all, because everyone either took only the compulsory French, or picked German as a second language.

To be honest, Beatrice had never thought that any of this would come in handy: she would probably get married not too long after she got her diploma, which meant that she would never attend university or discuss literature and philosophers again. And yet, because she had studied English, she had been able to get to know Kinzo, and find something to live for when she believed her life was over.

Doctor Nanjo knows the language well enough to keep her company after Kinzo leaves and reassure her when people she had never seen come to take her away.

Her new house in Odawara is a western mansion, but it still feels completely foreign to her. The maids and the men escorting her bow and show respect through their gestures, but even without words, she can see that everything around her is wrapped up in a thin layer of ice. She knows what they must think of her, a foreigner who somehow managed to become the mistress of one of the richest men in Japan.

Beatrice hasn't even given her first kiss yet, however, the words they had exchanged amidst the corpses of their comrades, and the very fact that she's here now only mean one thing.

She doesn't regret it but it is a bit scary, and she can't help but wonder and think and there are things that she hasn't realized up until this moment. There will be no white dress for her, no rice thrown in the air by cheery relatives. She won't even be allowed to spend every day by Kinzo's side, like a wife would: that title and that role will always belong to another woman. Beatrice wonders if her parents would disown her—surely, they would feel disappointed, betrayed; but even this, as much as she still loves them, remains nothing more than a faint consideration, something she's aware of but that won't affect her.

Religious and political principles, morals, old dreams and everything that used to be her life, melt away once and for all when she reaches her new room and finds piles of books on the desk (it's the ones Kinzo said he'd lend her) and a note in English: she reads it with a smile on her lips and cries at the same time.

She won't shed any more tears until the day she dies.

**V. **_Donne, ch'avete intelletto d'amore... __(another side)_

By now, the same elders who had never cared about his fate are probably wishing he'd died on Rokkenjima: there is nothing scarier than a puppet that managed to cut its strings. Who can tell how terrible its revenge is going to be?

Kinzo, on the other hand, doesn't really care for revenge—not right now at least, not when his mind is so full with something else: he can't get her out of his head and this is a good thing, because he has never felt this brave, this alive. He accomplishes impossible tasks, turns lies into truth and brings about miracles just for her sake. Her love is truly like a spell, and there is nothing he cannot do as long as she grants him her magic.

**IV. **_Incipit vita nova._

When he visits her in Odawara for the first time, Kinzo forgets pride and dignity and literally runs all the way from the car to the mansion, shouting her name. When he opens the door before a maid can do it for him, she's already there, smiling gently, and she must have run too: her chest rises and falls so quickly; he wonders if her heart is beating as fast as his. And then, Bice, who can't speak his language, tells him:

"Okaeri nasai."

Kinzo opens his mouth and then closes it again, throat dry. He takes a step towards her, then another, and he's too fast and careless and so he stumbles, and he would fall if Beatrice's arms weren't already wrapped around him.

"Tadaima," he mutters, voice broken, against her neck, and it's his turn to cry as she continues to smile serenely and strokes his hair.

**VI. **_Ita n' è Beatrice 'n l' alto cielo_

In a future that will become present too soon, he'll be holding her hand in the same manner he did on that gently swaying boat, while she gives life and receives death on the very bed they shared every time he would visit her.

She'll be smiling sincerely in spite of the pain, just like that time; but he will cry instead, desperate, repeating his own spell from back then: "Soon you'll be alright," meaning: _everything_ will be alright, although he knows it won't, and he will call her again, my golden witch.

And at the end of _everything_, when asked: what will the child's name be, he'll answer, selfishly hoping, foolishly believing, and loathing himself:

"Beatrice."


End file.
